


la vie en rose

by kbaycolt



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dancing and Singing, Domesticity, F/M, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, TMA Valentine's Exchange 2021
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:22:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28924278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kbaycolt/pseuds/kbaycolt
Summary: Tim enjoys a quiet morning in with his partners.
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Sasha James/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker, Sasha James/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sasha James/Tim Stoker
Comments: 18
Kudos: 72
Collections: TMA Valentine's Exchange 2021





	la vie en rose

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Russianblu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Russianblu/gifts).



> Hello and welcome to my gift for the TMA Valentine's Fic Exchange. This is truly one of the sappiest thing I have ever written. Eben, I hope you enjoy!!

Tim opened his eyes to sunlight.

Consciousness came to him slowly, in hazy snapshots: gentle morning light streaming through cracks in the curtains; warmth seeping into his body from all sides; bone-deep contentment, drowsy and dreamlike in quality. He breathed in and out, keeping his eyes closed, relishing in the perfect cozy nest he found himself in.

A pair of lips brushed underneath his chin. He opened one eye, squinting in the light.

"Good morning," Sasha whispered up at him.

She was curled into his side, head tucked in the crook of his neck, legs tangled with his own and one arm tossed over his stomach. Her brown eyes were lidded with sleepiness as she blinked at him.

On his left lay Martin, who was still fast asleep, his face turned towards Tim's. Between the two of them, Jon was tucked in a small ball, head resting on Tim's chest while the rest of his limbs were sprawled across Martin's soft form.

Tim offered Sasha a pleased little grin. "Good morning," he replied, equally quiet.

"They're out like lights," Sasha mused, snuggling in closer to him. She reached out and combed her fingers through Jon's hair, which had now reached shoulder length with unmistakable grey streaks brought on by stress.

Jon, adorably, made a soft noise in his sleep, and unconsciously pressed closer to Sasha's touch.

Together, Tim and Sasha cooed very quietly.

He brought his arm down from where it was tucked under his head and wrapped it around Sasha instead. She hummed and pressed another kiss to the side of his neck.

"I'm going to make us some tea," she murmured, drawing back slightly. "I know Martin and Jon will want some when they wake up."

"I don't know how you find the strength to leave our nest of love and warmth," Tim said mournfully, as she slipped out from under the covers and rose to her feet. He missed the extra body heat immediately.

"I make these sacrifices with great solemnity."

Tim exhaled and sank back down into the pillows. Beside him, Martin shifted, face scrunching in a way that made Tim's delicate bisexual heart melt.

Slowly, ensuring he didn't jostle Jon, Tim managed to twist his body to the side and kiss the tip of Martin's nose.

Martin's baby blue eyes blinked open, crossing sleepily as they tried to focus on Tim's face.

He yawned, face scrunching up with the motion.

“Good morning,” Tim crooned.

“Hmmm,” Martin responded, coherently.

“Sasha’s making tea.”

“Mmm.”

“It’s oolong.”

" _What?"_ Martin muttered, reaching up to rub at his eyes. He accidentally bumped Jon, who made a noise of discomfort and curled tighter in on himself between the two of them. Tim placed a hand on Jon’s head and started to pet his hair in slow, soothing motions. “You’d better be joking.”

“Yeah, you got me.”

“Hmph. Good.”

Martin’s early morning grumpiness didn’t last long; by the time Sasha had boiled a few cups, let them steep, and brought them quietly back into their bedroom, Martin had woken up enough to speak in full sentences. Jon was still dead to the world, which none of them really minded. They didn’t begrudge him any rest he was able to catch.

Tim cradled his mug with the heels of his palms, wincing at the heat. Sasha, now leaning on the headboard, body angled towards him, drank her tea in big gulps with a faintly smug expression. He stuck out his tongue at her.

"This is good," Martin murmured.

"Yes," Sasha preened, bringing her mug to her lips. "I'm going to get a good grade in tea making, which is both normal to want, and possible to achieve."

"Don't we have a pack of gold stars in the closet somewhere?" Tim said.

"Oh, Lord, from Jon's classroom, yeah we do. He told me he tried to give a gold star to one of his eleven-year-olds and they mocked him behind his back for the rest of the week."

Tim tucked a curl behind Jon's ear, gently tracing the warm skin of his cheek. The worm scars that marred Jon's face had faded with time, and now the slightly rough texture of the circular wounds was the only indication they existed. Tim, a bit self consciously, scratched at one of his own.

"You can drink it, you know," Sasha prompted, nudging Tim's arm. "It's got Martin's gold star of approval."

Martin gave a thumbs-up.

Slowly, testing the temperature, Tim took a small sip from his mug, then sighed in pleasure. It was perfectly warm and just on this side of too sweet, exactly how he liked it.

"Marry me," he said seriously, peering up at Sasha.

Her long curls tumbled over her shoulder, framing her amused smile as she leaned down to kiss Tim's forehead. "We do not have the money for a wedding," she replied, equally serious.

"Hmmm," Martin said.

They both shifted to look at him. Tim raised an eyebrow.

Martin blushed. "Well... I may or may not have funneled hundreds of dollars into a savings account while I was working for Peter. He doesn't keep a very close eye on his bank account. So, theoretically, if any of us were to get married, we would absolutely have the money."

Tim let himself sink down into the pillows with a short, disbelieving laugh. "Oh, Martin, you're my hero."

"I'm not surprised," Sasha said. "You've always been devious."

They lapsed into an easy, gentle quiet, as the morning stretched on in golden stillness. Tim had never been one for impossibly idyllic happily ever afters, but even he could admit that this came pretty close. As Sasha began running her fingers slowly through his hair, and Martin blinked sleepily over the rim of his ceramic mug, Tim let his eyes flutter shut, surrendering to the heady lull of perfect contentment that seeped into his bones.

When he found himself sliding into wakefulness once again, it was to a significantly emptier bed. Martin and Sasha had slipped away at some point, leaving only Tim and Jon by themselves in the warm nest of sheets and blankets. Somehow, Jon had managed to wrap all of his limbs around Tim's torso in his sleep, and was now clinging to him like an octopus of terrible eldritch knowledge.

"Jon," Tim murmured, reaching up to run a hand down Jon's spine. "This is adorable, and I love you, but we probably need to get up at some point."

To his credit, Jon didn't try to feign sleep; he made a displeased noise and buried his face in Tim's chest.

"Yes, I know."

"Mmm."

"Valid argument. Counterpoint: It's noon, and I'm starving."

" _Mm_." Finally, Jon lifted his head, his brown eyes latching squarely onto Tim's gaze. Tim smiled; seeing several years of that oddly intense stare had desensitized him. "Rebuttal: It's _Sunday_."

"Will you get up if I promise pancakes?"

Jon pursed his lips thoughtfully. "With strawberry syrup?"

"Of course, what do you take me for? Don't answer that."

"... Alright then."

Jon rolled to the side, releasing Tim from his grasp with a huff. Tim gradually pulled himself into a sitting position, yawning. He glanced over at Jon's sprawled form.

"Come on, boss, up and at 'em." He laced his fingers with Jon's and tugged, chuckling fondly as Jon tightened his grip, using the momentum to haul himself up. "There we go. I bet Martin and Sasha have been trying to keep it down for us. She made tea for everybody earlier, believe it or not."

"Chronic coffee drinker Sasha James made tea and voluntarily drank it? No, I don't believe it."

As Tim grabbed a soft bathrobe from the closet to bundle himself in, Jon tugged on an oversized WTG hoodie, his thin frame swallowed up by the dark fabric. Tim had learned over time that Jon hated tight, form-fitting clothes, and much preferred to steal stretched out, used clothing items from his partners. It was honestly adorable.

They made their way out of the bedroom together to find Sasha perched on the kitchen counter, swinging her legs and softly-yet-earnestly narrating lines from the Franz Kafka novel in her hands, while Martin listened attentively from where he was scrubbing some plates in the sink. She paused in her recitations when Tim and Jon stumbled in, both still groggy and dragging their feet.

"There you are," Sasha said, placing a bookmark on her page. "We were starting to think you'd waste the whole day lounging around."

"You wish," Tim replied, sidling up to where she sat, slotting his body between her knees and going willingly as she tugged him into a chaste kiss.

"On the counter, really?" Jon grumbled. Tim tried to snag Jon's sleeve and drag him into it, but Jon batted his hand away and wandered over to Martin instead. He wrapped his arms around Martin's waist and placed a gentle kiss to the side of his neck. Martin blushed. "Tim promised pancakes," Jon announced meaningfully, giving Tim an expectant glance.

Sasha raised an eyebrow at him. Tim mumbled a soft "I did promise pancakes" as he dipped his head down, his lips trailing over Sasha's collarbone and back up to just beneath her chin. He took great pride in the way she let out a breathless laugh, hands moving to clutch at his sides.

"On the _counter_ ," Jon repeated, stern. Tim and Sasha broke apart, sheepish.

"Alright, alright, time for pancakes." Tim accepted the box of pancake mix from Sasha, who had the best leverage to grab it from the top shelf. He moved around the others smoothly, dodging where he needed to, and making his way over to the other side of the kitchen where he knew the bowls to be. It wasn't his apartment, but he'd spent enough time over to be able to navigate it well enough.

Martin tossed him a freshly washed whisk. Tim snatched it out of the air, maneuvered around Jon-and-Martin—who had not felt the need to detach themselves—and bent to rummage through the bottom cabinets. He emerged triumphant with his prize: a measuring cup.

"Are we cooking or dancing?" Sasha asked, amused, as he shuffled past her in a poor mimicry of a waltz.

"I'm cooking _and_ dancing," Tim asserted. "It's a learned skill. You, too, might learn it someday."

She tried to smack him, but he slipped away, cradling the bowl, pancake mix, and whisk in his arms. He tsked faux-disapprovingly at her.

As Tim laid out his ingredients on a clean spot of countertop, he heard the beginning trills of an unmistakable trumpet crackle to life; he turned, lips curving into a grin, to see Martin cranking up the volume on a speaker.

"Can't have a dance without music," he said with a shrug, smiling.

Tim's sappy, hopelessly romantic heart fluttered. 

Refocusing, he started to stir the mix with his whisk, quietly humming to himself. Behind him, Jon began to slowly sway to the music, socked feet sliding over the tile, eyes closed in careful concentration. Martin tapped out the rhythm with his nails. As the drawling voice of Louis Armstrong filled their small, cozy kitchen, Sasha hopped down from the counter and caught Jon's hand, sweeping him into a legitimate waltz. With every step they took, Sasha found the opportunity to swoop in and plant little kisses across Jon's cheeks, his neck, the top of his head. Tim poured the batter into the pan; the delicious, buttery scent of frying pancakes joined the vibrancy of sensory stimulation surrounding them.

"Care to flip one?" Tim asked over the music, waving his spatula at Martin. He nodded, pushed himself off the counter, and took the spatula from Tim.

" _This is la vie en rose,_ " Jon was singing, in his low, rich tones, moving in tandem with Sasha's experienced motions. " _When you kiss me, heaven sighs, and though I close my eyes_ —"

" _I see la vie en rose_ ," Martin chimed in.

His voice was hesitant at first, unsure, but grew stronger as Tim smiled encouragingly, watching him flip the pancakes fluidly. Afternoon sunlight spilled through the windows, casting the loves of his life in warm sunshine as they twirled together and sang, perfectly comfortable and safe in each other's arms. Tim looked at Martin, who was biting his lip as he focused on flipping his next pancake, expression scrunched up and dramatically serious.

Tim felt something indiscernible relax, somewhere deep inside him. This was worth it. This was what mattered.

The last strains of the song trailed away as Sasha dipped Jon, each of their postures excellently poised, and Martin finished placing the last pancake atop the stack. An uncontrollably fond smile spread over Tim's face at the sight, almost too idyllic to be real, and he moved to tenderly kiss the hollow of Martin's throat, as the other man tipped his head to give Tim better access.

"I love you guys," he said, drawing back to gaze at each of them. Sasha and Jon were breathless from their impromptu dance; they cast Tim bright, happy grins in response.

Martin, too, smiled affectionately at him. "Sentimental this morning, huh?"

Tim shrugged. "Sometimes sentiment is good."

He was beginning to believe that maybe they did deserve a happily ever after, after all.

(And the smell of those pancakes certainly wasn't hurting anything either.)


End file.
